


Experiment Gone Horribly Wrong

by tjs_whatnot



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, OT3 if you blink, episode tag s05e4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:08:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal was just going to go ahead and blame Mozzie for what happened... if he could just remember what had actually occurred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experiment Gone Horribly Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by Cookie Laura. Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

Neal tried to raise his head off his shoulder, but somehow, someone had added about 100 lbs to the weight to his brain. _Must be the crazy amount of new thoughts buzzing around inside,_ he reasoned.

Somewhere in the back of his overly large head, was the thought that this was probably Mozzie’s fault. It usually was.

He had been somewhere, but where? He remembered a cab ride, he remembered the cab driver extremely relieved to deposit him at his destination. He’d actually said “Step on it!” to the driver, like he was a P.I. in a bad 70s drama.

He’d always wanted to say it actually.

It sounded like something that Peter would say.

Peter.

PETER.

Oh shit.

Suddenly words and images flashed through his memory, jumbled confessions and concerned glances between Peter and El.

El.

Fuck.

What had he said? What had he confessed?

He picked up the phone and frantically called Mozzie’s number. The sudden and inexplicable sound of ZZ Top’s “Sharp Dressed Man” blared from his living room. He ended the call and the music stopped.

“Mozzie!” he shouted, then covered his own ears.

“What?” Mozzie called back, his head peeking up over the back of the couch.

“Why are you here?”

“Observation.”

“What did you give me?”

“I told you, a replica of what you had been given by Doctor Strangelove.”

“Oh god, what have we done?”

“Hey, it was my idea to have you in a controlled environment where I could observe you and document your reactions. It wasn’t _my_ idea to take the party on the road.”

“Jesus. I’m going back to prison, aren’t I?”

“Nah. I got there before you got out of high school in your Confessional World Tour. Thankfully for you, you’ve been a very naughty boy for a very long time.”

Neal’s memory was coming back in juts and jags. “Why did I go there?”

“Fuck if I know. Maybe you had a burning desire to tell them something that you needed the excuse of being drugged to say.”

Neal shook his head and then winced. That had been stupid. “No. That can’t be it. You think I’d _actively_ go and ask for that sort of trouble?”

“Maybe the confession has nothing to do with crimes you’ve committed.”

Neal’s head hurt. “That doesn’t even make sense. Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know… that you love them?”

Neal barked out a laugh and then winced again. “A bit too early in the morning to be hitting the sauce, isn’t it, Mozz?”

“Oh come on. There was a reason that after you felt the release of subterfuge, after your tightly held guard was down that you take the absolute first opportunity to go to Mr. and Mrs. Suit’s place. The drug frees your rational mind, not turns you into another person.”

Neal attempted to get out of bed. “I’m going to need you to stop talking now.”

“Hey, you called me, pal.”

Neal gave up on his attempt and a moment later Mozzie was at the foot of the bed. “You want me to get you anything?”

“A glass of water? Maybe more rope to hang myself.”

“You’ll be fine. You know they won’t hold anything against you.”

“You sure I didn’t say anything that could incriminate me?”

Mozzie thought for a minute then waved his hand. “You’ll be fine.”

“Not helping,” Neal called out to Mozzie’s receding figure.

“Not trying,” Mozzie called back.

A moment later, Mozzie returned with a bottle of water, two aspirin and a glass of something amber with ice. “No thanks, just the water and meds,” Neal said.

Mozzie laughed. “As if. This is for me.” Neal must have looked really pathetic because after Mozzie had a swallow of bourbon he sighed. “Neal, come on, if you said anything that would have gotten you into serious trouble, you’ll be able to see it on Peter’s face on Monday.”

“I don’t know,” Neal said, hugging his pillow to him. “He’s getting harder to read. I blame all his time spent with me.”

“Yep, probably all your fault.”

Neal tried to glare at him, but it hurt his eyebrows. _Eyebrows can hurt?_ “Just… I… just…” He waved his hand.

“Fine. I’ll go. If you’d like another go with the—“

This time he didn’t care about his damn eyebrows and his glare was spectacular.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Mozzie stood up and drained his drink. “Next time you need to figure out what you might or might not have revealed while drugged, don’t come crying to me and my toxicology.”

“Noted.”

Neal had finally made it to the bathroom, had given up the idea of a shower and was contemplating a quick shave at least when there was a knock on the door.

“Mozzie, please let me die in peace!”

“Not Mozzie and not going to happen,” Peter’s gruff voice called out.

“Why me?” Neal said to himself. Louder he called out, “Coming.”

He took his time studying himself in the mirror, questioning his tells before heading to the door. Too long apparently; when he walked out of the bathroom, Peter was there in his apartment looking both disappointed and oddly endeared.

“Rough night?” he asked.

Neal smiled painfully. “A bit.”

“You left rather abruptly.”

“Yeah? I only remember bits and pieces. That particular piece hasn’t arrived yet.” He tapped his head for emphasis.

“You don’t remember what you said? What you told me?”

Neal’s mind raced with how to play this. “I will, I’m sure, eventually. Until then, you’re going to torture me, aren’t you?”

Peter smiled. “Absolutely.”

Neal sighed. If he had anything actionable, something about Hagen, something about what he’d known about Siegel and what he might have been doing the night he was murdered, then Peter would not be here smiling. He might not be able to read Peter as well as he used to, but he was pretty sure about that.

“So, is that why you came? To harass me about my stupidity?”

“Well, part of the reason. Letting Mozzie drug you? Seriously? How did you think that was a good idea?”

“You weren’t there in the doctor’s office; you don’t know what it was like, how it made me feel. I was terrified.”

Peter’s smile disappeared and he looked angry. “What happened?”

Neal walked past Peter and to the fridge for another bottle of water. He got one for Peter too and threw it at him. “I don’t know. It’s as hazy as last night is. There are flashes. We were playing a word game, testing each other’s wit and motives. She seemed to know something and tried to get me to reveal something…” he scratched his head. “Then it just got all… wavy… It’s hard to explain. I just seemed to be out of my body. I hated it and yet, there was something… freeing about it.”

“And that’s why you allowed Mozzie to recreate the event? To be set free?”

“God no. I just didn’t like the not knowing, I still don’t. I hate that there are bits of things that you know about me that I don’t remember revealing. I hate that this woman has access to feelings and thoughts that I have that I don’t remember sharing. I tried to recreate it with Mozzie so that he could relate to me what I might have said, might have exposed.”

It was silent for a while and Neal got the distinct feeling that while he was trying to read Peter’s reactions to what he had just admitted, Peter was doing the same. Neal hated that the harder Peter got to read, the easier Neal himself seemed to be for Peter to glean things from. It hardly seemed fair.

“And you came over to…?” Peter started.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“Why do you think?”

“I don’t know. I think you wanted me to know something. Well, wanted El and I to know something. You wouldn’t let her leave, said it involved both of us.”

Neal swallowed. “I did?”

Neal was leaning on his kitchen counter and Peter walked towards him. “You did. Said you wanted to confess something you swore you’d never…”

Peter was right in front of Neal now, reaching for his arm, his wrist, rubbing his fingers along his pulse point. 

“I did?” Neal repeated, cursing at himself that his heartbeat was so loud and erratic and that Peter was feeling it.

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you.”

Neal yanked his hand away. “That is so very much not nice.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Neal scowled, but also rejoiced. Peter might be harder to read, but that was easy. He’d be fine. They’d be fine.

Probably.


End file.
